


Jus ad Bellum

by cymbalism



Series: Combat 'Verse [5]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Academy Era, Awkwardness, First Date, Introspection, M/M, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-04
Updated: 2011-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-24 07:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cymbalism/pseuds/cymbalism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting involved with Jim is about seven different kinds of dangerous. And McCoy has a decision to make.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jus ad Bellum

**Author's Note:**

> Last stop on the way back to the smex. Next time there will be porn, I promise! Continued inspiration assistance from The Weepies.

_Definition: The_ jus ad bellum _are a set of criteria that are to be consulted_ before _engaging in war, in order to determine whether entering into war is justifiable. These criteria include just cause, proper authority, right intention, reasonable hope for success, and last resort._

* * *

McCoy woke up to a crick in his neck and the bare curve of Jim's bruised back. The stench of alcohol and McCoy's stiff muscles were markers of a hard morning after, but there hadn't been any action the night before. Not that kind, anyway. What had happened between he and Jim last night had been more serious than sex.

He rolled onto his back and startled, almost pitching off the edge of the mattress. That's right—not his bed. Jim's bed. It was the first time they'd slept in Jim's bed, and the first time they'd slept together without sex as a precursor.

Squeezing the sleep from his eyes, McCoy tried not to put any significance on that and failed.

With a wince at the awful pull in his neck, he looked over at Jim who was still passed out and breathing deep, blissfully unaware he was headed for a hangover and a world of hurt from his bruises and abrasions. McCoy would drag him to the clinic later to make good on his promise of a tissue regenerator. Careful not to wake him for now, he slipped out of bed, grabbed a change of clothes and a towel, and headed to the showers.

He cranked the knob to HOT and gave the water a few seconds to catch up before climbing into the stall and closing the curtain. Head hanging, one hand pressed to the tile wall, he let the water pelt him, scald the top of his spine and roll off his shoulders, through his hair. For a good sixty seconds he didn't move, just let the force and heat unknot him, let the tension wash out and circle the drain.

McCoy was not at all sure what he was getting into with this kid, this broken, needy, impossible kid. The way he'd seen Jim last night, the things he'd heard him say . . . that was more hurt than one man should have to shoulder, and Jim had apparently been hauling it since birth. Conventional wisdom said to stay away from people with hurt like that or else it'll suck you in too, sure as a black hole.

Getting involved with Jim was about seven kinds of dangerous. You risked collateral damage—ruination of your property, injury to your person, maybe some loss of friends or family. You risked your heart, the rest of your life, and (knowing Jim) maybe your career. You risked losing yourself.

But it had always been dangerous, and McCoy had already done it anyway. He'd gotten involved the second he accepted that nonsense teenage bet. No, it was before that—hell, he'd gotten involved the second he'd offered Jim his flask on the shuttle in Riverside. He wasn't any more equipped to save Jim than he was to stop a black hole. He was already within the gravitational well and was witness to this slow spin of beautiful destruction whether he wanted to be or not. He may as well want it.

McCoy cringed at his own cynicism and shifted again under the shower stream.

It wasn't only like that. There were reasons to accept the danger, to take those risks. For one thing, he _did_ want it, if he was honest with himself, and that was reason enough. Jim's tomfool antics deserved every eye-roll McCoy gave them, but he also harbored untold amounts of affection for Jim. And the fact of the matter was that if anyone really had what it took to wrangle James T. Kirk into some kind of relationship, it was McCoy. He was already Jim's best friend, already had his trust, and they were already fucking, on occasion. Not much was gonna change. In fact, that in itself was a reasonable justification—it wasn't his intent to change Jim. Not really. Not more than growing up a little would change him anyway. Mostly McCoy figured he would just be the support the kid needed. It wasn't a lost cause—after all, McCoy had been in his own black hole once, when he joined Starfleet, and it was Jim who'd pulled him out.

When it came down to it, McCoy knew there was no backing out—which left nowhere to go but deeper in.

Jim was awake when McCoy got back to the room. He nodded as McCoy shut the door, hitching up his pants and zipping them.

"Hey," McCoy said.

"Hey," Jim answered while tugging the covers back into place on his bed. He picked up days-old dirty clothes and shoved them into a laundry sack. He appeared mostly steady on his feet, but he was avoiding eye contact and had already put on a shirt to cover the bruises on his torso. The cleaning was an apology, penance for some wrong Jim thought he had to right.

Leave it to Jim to apologize for showing some kind of deep emotion like a real human being.

McCoy let him tiptoe around the elephant in the room for all of a minute before deciding enough self-flagellation was enough. They needed to get out of here. "So what do you say we—"

"No, hey, look, Bones—" Jim protested immediately, automatically.

"I just thought maybe we could—"

"It's not a big deal. None of it's a big deal. It's just—"

McCoy held up his hands, shut his trap, and gestured for Jim to continue.

Jim sighed and started over. "Okay look, last night—that was—I mean, I was . . . uh, kind of a mess."

"Yeah, you were."

"But it's not a big deal, okay? I'm fine." He waved at his split lip and cracked head. "Or, I'll be fine. Whatever."

McCoy shrugged. "Okay."

"Okay," Jim echoed, nodding firmly. Then he squished up his face. "Wait. 'Okay'? That's it? No lecture? Just ' _okay_ '?"

"That's what I said." McCoy smirked. "After breakfast we could go to the clinic, put that tissue regenerator to work on you, what do you say?"

"Breakfast?" Jim was dazed.

McCoy slid on his jacket. "Yeah, I thought we could go to breakfast."

And just like that the glint crept back into Jim's eye. He smiled sneakily. "Are you asking me out on a date, Bones? Is this our first date?"

McCoy chucked a sweatshirt at Jim's chest." Might as well be," he said and smiled to himself as he headed out the door, leaving Jim in a scramble for socks and shoes.

He stopped a few steps outside the dormitory, rubbed that spot at the base of his neck to make sure the knot was going to stay gone. It was early, but the quad wasn't empty. McCoy exchanged a nod with a cadet passing by, glimpsed a couple kids necking on the grass in broad daylight. Jim trotted up behind him, stuffing his head through the sweatshirt and blinking at the morning light. McCoy smiled, reached over to sift out a tousled patch of Jim's hair.

Jim laughed softly. "You like me, Bones," he half teased, half marveled. "You really like me."

Daylight didn't make a damn bit of difference, didn't make McCoy want to rehash his reasons or reconsider the risks. He leaned in and kissed Jim, gently, eyes closed. And if he felt the earth sway, felt time and space swirl, felt himself get sucked into the vortex that is Jim Kirk, then so be it. Maybe he didn't know exactly what he was in for, but he was sure he wanted to be in it.

With one last nip-lick at the unbusted side of Jim's bottom lip, McCoy pulled away. "So what if I do?"

Black and blue, broken but beautiful anyway, Jim beamed and kissed him again.

  



End file.
